Screwed Up
by C0ldSteel
Summary: Wesley has just had a traumatic experience and Spike can relate. Maybe he can do more. One-shot; takes place right after the episode "Lineage." Wesley/Spike


_Just what the title says. Takes place at the end of the episode "Lineage". Wesley/Spike slash._

_Taking a little one shot break from my chaptered fics. This is my first Angel story. Enjoy. ^^_

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><p><strong>Screwed Up<strong>

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><p>I really meant to be nice. But whenever I do that, it seems to come out all wrong.<p>

"I killed my mum." Yeah, that was a bit blunt. But considering what Wesley had just gone through, it seemed not to matter too much. But then it occurred to me that in the incident I was thinking of, my mum was technically already dead. "Well, I'd already killed her," I amended. "But then she tried to shag me, so I had to—"

It's just as well he cut me off there... though a second or two sooner would probably have been better. He told me he was "comforted." Right. That translates to "extremely weirded out, thanks."

From thinking you'd killed your dad to defend a damsel in distress to killing your mum to keep from getting raped... yup, screwed up. Personally, I think my situation was the more disturbing, but to be fair, I'm better equipped to handle shit like that—having a century of mayhem under my belt.

So, after that awkward encounter I hung about and watched Wesley's pathetic attempt to tell Fred that he loved her... no one knew I was still there. Hid in a wall. That's the cool thing about being an almost-ghost: no mass. When Knox offered to take Fred home and Wesley told her to go, it was all I could do to keep my "You fool!" too quiet for them to hear.

Then I sat there and listened to Wesley's pathetic phone call to his real father, who was in fact _not_ dead, and grouchy as ever from what I could hear. I rather think Wes would have been better off if he _had_ killed the old blighter. Save himself some angst. Of one sort, anyway. But by the time he got through, it sounded like they were finishing up on slightly better terms, so maybe the call wasn't a complete waste.

I went round to the hallway and came in the door like a corporeal person. Wes looked up at me, and he looked pretty damn tired.

"You're still here," he said in that lamb-y voice that was too high and soft to leave any impression of manliness. Poor old ponce.

I shrugged. "Not really anywhere else for me to go. Angel gets cross if I try to hang with him after hours."

"Hm." He looked like he was actually thinking about it as a problem, maybe even feeling guilty that he hadn't shown me concern before.

"What about you? Aren't you going home for the night?"

He glanced at the clock. "I suppose so. It feels very late, but... it's just after midnight."

"Still time for forty winks. Maybe even fifty or sixty."

"Yes." He pushed back from his desk and retrieved his jacket. "Do you sleep?" he asked suddenly. "It never occurred to me..."

"I've found that I _can._ But I don't feel much need for it, and when I do there's usually a yawning, hellish chasm behind me eyes, so I don't try much," I explained.

"I see." Wes shrugged on his jacket. "Well, if you want a change of scene, you could come back to my place."

"Are you taking pity on me?" I tried to sound mock-accusatory, but I actually thought it was true. And I really didn't mind. It was nice to get some sympathy.

"No, never," he said, following my lead in the strange, anti-emotion double talk. "Just bored out of my mind, you know. Wouldn't mind company on the way home."

"We can't have that."

I followed him down to the car park, crawled over the hood of his SUV and slithered through the windshield.

He gave me a look when he got in—like maybe he regretted inviting me—but he didn't say anything.

I tried to be nice on the drive... but he wasn't very talkative. Kinda negated that tripe about being bored and wanting company. But he was being nicer than most of them, so I didn't complain. Really, they usually just ignore me. I have to take cheap shots at them all day, trying to get someone riled enough to so much as look at me. No one even thanked me for saving Gunn's life. I had managed to hit someone—_punched_ a cyborg right in its... mask. But I get no thanks at all. So really, a car ride with Wesley? Well, I was trying to keep my cool, but I was so pleased at the attention. It was embarrassing.

"Here we are," he said, pulling up at his place.

It was a nice little house. Nicer, I'd heard than the place he'd lived in before—the place where he'd kept a girl in the closet while shagging an enemy agent. I didn't quite believe the stories, though, because good as Wes was with his ancient text mumbo-jumbo, and his crossbow work, I couldn't quite see him being as bad-ass as the stories implied.

"Do you want to come in?"

I was definitely curious to see what the inside looked like, but I didn't want to seem too desperate. "Got nothing better to do," I said carelessly.

As I expected, the interior was British-homey. Hardwood floors, too many bookshelves, a fireplace... I tried to hang my coat over a chair, but it went right through to the floor. I didn't pick it up.

"May I offer you a drink? Oh... can you drink?"

_God, a drink._ That sounded so good. "Hell, I'll give it a try," I said. So I sounded a little desperate. You couldn't blame me. I hadn't partaken of anything since before the whole talisman thingy. And like every time I thought about the hell mouth, I found my non-corporeal stomach clenching a bit. I missed Buffy. Yeah, I admit it. Shut up.

I was a little disappointed that it was scotch he decided to serve up, but I was in no position to complain. He poured it into a couple of tumblers in the kitchen and shoved one across the wooden table toward me.

"Try that."

_"Salut,"_ I said, reaching for the glass. My fingers went through it and came out moist. "Dammit." I licked the scotch off my fingers. "Tricky little bugger."

Wes tried to keep a straight face, but I saw the corner of his mouth pull up a little. "I may have a straw somewhere. That might be easier..."

"No," I said quickly. "Let me have another go." I was desperate, but not desperate enough to sip girly scotch from a sissy straw in front of a poncy ex-watcher. Not yet, anyway.

He took a swig of his own drink while he watched me, and it made me more determined than ever. I concentrated on how I knew the glass would feel when I touched it, the weight of it when I picked it up. This time I felt the smooth surface and gripped it delicately. _That's it... focus, man._ I carefully brought the tumbler to my lips and tilted it forward, my tongue swimming in insubstantial saliva in its eagerness to taste the scotch again.

For scotch, I have to admit it was pretty good. And after so long with nothing at all, my disappointment completely dissolved. I had to sip it carefully, concentrating on not dropping the glass. After a few good swallows, I managed to set it down again with only a dull _thwack._

"Well done," Wes said with a smile.

My cool was pretty much gone. I was grinning at my success. Still, I wasn't foolhardy enough to think that I now had the hang of it and didn't need to pay so much attention. Only continued concentration would help me drain the glass without breaking it. He waited for me to catch up with him before pouring our second glasses.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

That was a difficult question. Most of the time I felt like I didn't even have a digestive system... yet sometimes I felt ravenous. "Probably not for anything you've got."

He got up and went to the freezer, pulling out a familiar-looking package. _Steak._

"It'll have to thaw..."

"I've got no appointments to go to," I said quickly. "I can wait."

Wes nodded and set the package on the counter top. "So, um... I cut you off before. When you were telling me about your mother. That was rather... ungrateful of me." He took a slow drink of scotch and I knew it was my turn to say something.

"Probably wasn't very helpful, what I was saying," I said, focusing on my glass again.

"I don't know... I've read a lot about you, Spike, but I'm beginning to think I really know little about you."

_Damn straight._ "Well, that's true of most people, innit? You don't really get to know someone unless you really want to, right?"

"I suppose so."

"For instance, I'd never have pegged you for a bloke who could shoot his own father to save the girl he loved." Wes grimaced a little and I went on, "That's not a criticism... really, it's taken you up a few notches in my estimation."

"I don't mean to be rude, but... winning your admiration doesn't really make me feel better."

My turn to grimace. It made sense, of course. I was just the murderous, wise-cracking vampire. Why would an ex-watcher want that looking up to him? "What I'm saying is, you knew what was right in the moment. If that really had been your father, trying to make Angel a puppet and threatening to kill Fred to get his way, what you did was the only choice that made sense."

"I could have given him what he wanted."

The glasses were getting low again.

"And then what? Wolfram and Hart would be set back months trying to get Angel back in control. Maybe years. No one would thank you for that; certainly not Fred.

Wes chugged the last of his scotch. "I emptied my gun into him."

_Ouch._ Yeah, that was a little different. I put all my concentration into my hand as I lifted the fancy square bottle and painstakingly poured Wesley's third glass and then my own. "If you're gonna do something, do it thoroughly, I s'pose. Once you made your choice, you followed it through. I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of."

"What the hell would I have told my mother?"

"Easy. You'd tell her that he was being controlled by cyborgs and he wouldn't have wanted to live that way, and he was a danger to himself and others. She'd understand." I didn't know Wesley's mother at all, but I was decent at guessing these sorts of things. Anyway, it was worth a try.

"Maybe."

"My dad died when I was really young," I recalled. "It was just me and my mum for a long time. She was the only person in the world who loved me." I didn't know why I was telling him this (it was the scotch starting to catch up with me, as I didn't know it _could_ what with me being almost-ghost) but I didn't mind. I rarely got a chance to talk about the old days... the _really_ old days. "Used to write poetry, you know. No one liked it... no one but her."

"Mothers tend to be proud of their boys," Wes commented.

"Yes. Of course, our family money was about spent, so I ought to have become a doctor or something, but I wanted to be a poet... god knows I'd never have made any money at it."

"Why did you er... have to kill her?"

I nearly dropped the glass, trying to take a bigger gulp for moral support. "Well... that's a bit of a story."

"I've got no appointments to go to."

I smirked. Clever little git, using my words. "Well, you probably know Angel and Darla's story, and how Angel turned Dru, and then Dru turned me. Well, I'd always been a good little sod, you know. The butt of jokes, the pitiful would-be poet. The girl I loved had just spurned me and I was vulnerable. Angelus and Darla had encouraged Dru to find herself a little pet, and she found me. She was always a bit... addled. In a lot of ways, I considered Angelus to be my sire more than her. But in any case, when she showed me what it was like to be immortal, I wanted to share it with Mummy."

"That's not a usual sentiment for a vampire, is it?"

"Eh... a lot of them like to turn family members—they can make for strong alliances. But in my case it was a little different. See, when a human is turned, they change. Sometimes it's a big change, sometimes a small one. Sometimes it takes a long time, and sometimes no time at all. I've changed a lot now, but it was a slow change at first. I still cared for my mother. I wanted her to live forever. But when I turned her... her change was drastic. She became almost the opposite of the person I had known. She was sharp and cruel. Critical, condemning. She..." God, was I getting choked up? In front of him? _Damn._ More scotch.

"In your own time." That soft voice again. The one that made people underestimate Wesley. I found myself thinking that Wes really was sort of amazing... he could be so gentle, or so brutal.

"She told me she wanted rid of me," I said, determined to soldier on. I didn't want him to see me break down. I'd thought I was over this anyway... what was wrong with me? (It was the scotch.) "She said she should have killed me when I was born—save herself the trouble. Said she'd always wished I'd find some girl to get me away from her, but I hardly took interest in anyone—which is not true, by the way. I was right smitten with this girl called Cecily. But anyway..."

Fourth glasses were being poured. Felt sort of blurry, like I was gonna disappear again. But this time I couldn't be bothered worrying about it.

"Anyway, she said it was cause I only wanted to be with her. To be back inside her."

Wes flinched with sympathy pain.

I'd never told anyone the nasty things my mother had said as a new vampire. I never wanted anyone to know how screwed up I was. But somehow this felt right. "I couldn't bear to hear her say those things, pressing up against me, trying to get me to prove her point. I pushed her away from me and she got angry. Started beating me with her bloody walking stick. I broke it and... staked her with it."

"Oh, Spike... how dreadful for you."

"I understand now that it wasn't really my mum saying those things. It was just the demon talking. But I don't regret staking her. She wouldn't have wanted to live like that either."

"No, I'm sure she wouldn't." He actually reached over and tried to touch my hand, but he went right through to the table.

I ignored the failed gesture to save face. I saw from the cute little mini-pendulum clock over his stove that it was after one o'clock now. "It's late... I'm keeping you up."

"Oh, that's all right. I'm used to short sleep. Let me check that steak." He went to the counter and prodded the meat package. "Still mostly frozen, but there's juice collecting. Let me see..." He got out a little paper cup to pour the meat juice into and brought it to the table. "It's not much."

"Better than nothing," I said. I was salivating more than ever as I very carefully lifted the cup. I could smell it and my stomach was screaming at me to hurry up, but I took my time. No way I was spilling a drop of that stuff. _Blood... tasty, juicy blood. Always liked beef better than pork. Mmm..._

I suppose it was a bit unappetizing for Wes to watch, but he didn't say anything until I'd gotten it all down. I wanted more, but I knew there wasn't more to be had. Not until the steak was thawed more.

"How was that?"

"Lovely, thanks. Really... thanks."

He was smiling a little again, and it gave me that warm little tingle. Well, not quite _that_ warm little tingle, but something like a first cousin to it. I felt comfortable with him. It was like having a proper mate. I'd never had a proper mate.

"If you wanna sleep, you go ahead," I told him. "I can just slip out the front door. I mean literally, _through_ the front door."

His smile grew. It made me feel gratified. "You don't have to go. Long walk back to an empty office? May as well stay here and go back with me in the morning, hadn't you?"

"Yeah, guess so. Got someplace I can kip?"

"Anywhere you like. I suppose a blanket wouldn't stay on you?"

"Nope."

"Then I guess there's not really anything I can get you."

I shook my head. "Don't worry about me, mate."

"All right. Good night, Spike."

"Cheers."

I sat at the table a bit after he went out. Then I went to the counter and messed with the steak a while. I poked at it, managed to tip the foam up, and eventually was able to lick a little more blood out of the shallow dish. I put the plastic back over it and headed to Wesley's room. He'd been quiet in there a couple minutes after I heard him come out of the loo. I hit my nose on the door and had to try going through a second time. Spending so much time trying to touch things made it tricky to go back to wall-walking, apparently.

Wes seemed to have just gotten into bed. only his head and the top of his shoulders showed. He might have been asleep already; I couldn't tell. I crept up to the bed and climbed on, wincing at my presence strangely pressing the bed down a bit, as if I had some weight to me. If there was anything I'd learned about being an un-ghost, it was that the laws of physics didn't apply. They weren't laws at all here... mere suggestions.

Wes opened his eyes and looked at my chagrined face.

"Er... sorry..."

"I did say anywhere you like," Wes recalled, looking amused.

"You want me to go?"

"No, it's all right."

That almost made it more awkward, but I settled onto the bed. At first my head went through the pillow and down to the mattress. "Bugger it." I pulled it up and managed to rest it on the pillow instead.

Wes couldn't contain a chuckle. "Sorry. That must be bloody annoying, not being able to touch things when you want to."

"Mhm."

He reached out toward my hand again, this time with the wondering experimentation of a very drunk Englishman. His fingers went through my hand as before.

A giggle escaped me. "Not like that, you ponce. You have to concen... conce-a-trate."

"Oh. Oh."

This time I moved to touch him, and managed to make contact with his skin. He jumped a little, as if I'd shocked him. "Sorry."

"Heh, that's all right. Try again... you ponce."

"Oi!" I moved to shove him, but I'd lost my concentration and went through his shoulder. It took me a second to regain my sense of direction; then I tried for his hand again. This time I was able to lay my hand over his. "There."

Wes smiled again, something I was starting to look forward to and enjoy more each time. "That's brilliant. You're getting good at this."

"Now you try," I said, confident that he would fail again.

It was my turn to be shocked when I actually felt Wes's hand on my skin. For some reason he'd gone for my face. I could feel his fingertips brushing over my hollow cheek and it was so sweet to feel touch again. The touch of another person... someone who wasn't trying to kill me. "You did it," I said in awe. "Wes, I'm touched."

He snorted and we both laughed. If we'd been sober it wouldn't have been a very funny joke... but then, if we'd been sober he wouldn't have touched me.

"You try me again."

He had both his arms out of the covers now, and the top of his chest was exposed. I lowered my hand over his heart and very slowly I felt his warm, smooth skin supporting my hand. I felt the beat of his heart. Honestly, it did make me a little hungry again, but I was so drunk and so lost in the moment that he wasn't in any danger.

He touched my face again, running his fingers along my hairline. I think he could tell how much I liked it. He had this tender expression... like someone petting a sick horse or something. "You're coming back, Spike."

It was melodramatic; I could tell that even through the scotch. But right then I sort of needed it. I went with it. "You'll help me, won't you, Wes? Help me come back?"

"I'll do whatever I can."

I don't have to explain myself to anyone, but I don't think I could if I wanted to. It just felt like the thing to do—to lean down and kiss him. Of course, my face went right through his face, and I was just glad there was no light in his head, because a view of Wesley's brain was not something I was keen on.

"Oh... um. Uh, Spike?"

I figured out which way was up and backed out of him. "Yeah?"

"That feels very odd."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Let me try again." I kept my focus better this time and planted my lips on his. I could feel his hand on my face again—partly _in_ it, but who's counting—and then running into my hair. Wes was getting good at this.

I tried to pull the covers back off him, but my hand kept going through them. "Screw it," I muttered. I sank into the covers and dipped my hand into them until I could feel Wes's skin, run my hand from his waist up to his collarbone and back.

"Spike," Wes gasped. "I'm not sure I..."

If I let him finish that sentence, this would be over, and I wasn't nearly done yet. "Please, Wes. You don't know what it's like—wandering through everything, not being able to touch anything, move anything, flip channels or turn pages even. Please, let me feel something." I was getting good at the melodrama, too.

He fell for it. "All right... I'm sorry." And the caressing was back.

With a large side of guilt. But that was nothing new to me. I knew how to block out guilt. I started carefully placing kisses on his neck and chest. He shivered, but then he was kicking the blankets off, obviously not cold. His pajama pants showed pretty clearly that however reluctant his mind was, his body was more than ready. Normally guys don't turn me on, but I was so eager to feel again... and besides, the scotch.

I got on top of him... or more like on top of the bed in the same space as him... I wasn't too worried about my legs sinking through his just then, or my hands going through his arms. I still managed to lands some kisses, and then all my concentration went south. I lowered myself toward him with precision, halting when I felt him brushing against me. It was like electricity. Something besides me touching me... it had been way too long. I closed my eyes to focus better, and then my clothes were gone. Perfect.

Wes didn't have to say anything. I could feel him gathering the air into his lungs, getting ready to protest. "Shh," I said before pressing my lips to his. "It's okay." I rocked back slowly, savoring the electric sizzle between our groins. I was starting to tingle all over. I wanted to go fast and hard, but I knew I would probably go right through him if I did that. Had to stay cool to stay hard.

I leaned to the side and reached one hand down to give him more direct contact. _Lucky bastard, you have no idea... I'd never do this for anyone else. Dunno why I'm doing it for you._ (It was the scotch.)

Wes was moaning now, and I liked that. I liked that I could feel him in my hand, that I could do this to him, even in my spectral state. I saw that he was trying to touch my chest, and I channeled some of my focus there, to help him connect. He stroked me and then grabbed me around the waist. I went over him again, getting my equipment through his pants to rub against him directly. He practically squeaked.

There was no more protesting, no more speaking. Just moaning and panting and _god, that's good_ and finally that blinding eruption... I came before he did, so I did the only decent thing and finished him with my hand. Then I lay back beside him and smiled. I hadn't been that happy since before getting my soul back.

"Bloody hell, Wes."

He didn't answer. Just lay there kind of dazed-looking, and pleased, and probably still rather drunk. I was starting to believe the stories.

The last thing I thought to myself before we went to sleep was that I could add a notch to my proverbial gun. I'd screwed a slayer, and now I'd screwed a watcher. All after conversation about him killing his father and me killing my mother—after she tried to screw me, of course. "We're so screwed up," I muttered, but I think Wes was already out.

The morning after, there were two ways I could play it. Smug or threatening. I went with smug, which was easy, because Wes went with threatening.

"No one can know of this," he said sternly, buckling his belt. "Never."

"I don't see what the big deal is," I said, though I didn't want anyone to know any more than he did. "You took pity on a non-corporeal vampire, took him home, gave him a lay and brought him back. Where's the shame? Makes you out like a regular stud."

"No, I mean it. Please, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone."

I got up lazily, contradictory as that sounds. "If it makes you feel better... all right."

"And I have to apologize to you."

"Don't be silly—you weren't _that_ bad."

"No, I mean... I won't be taking you back to Wolfram and Hart."

"What?" Have to admit, that was a bit of a blow. I didn't expect him to be so ashamed. Did he hate me?

"I can't go in today. Can't face it."

"Listen, Wes... things like this happen. It doesn't have to be as bad as all that..."

"I'm not talking about you anymore. I'm talking about the incident with my—with the cyborg. I'm going to call Angel and ask for a leave of absence."

"Oh. Oh, I see. Really?"

He was annoyed now. "Yes, really. I'll get a cab to take you."

At least he was being a gentleman.

So that's what he did: call Angel, and then get me a cab. I couldn't resist drawing out the goodbye, though.

"Thanks for last night," I told him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. I knew the cab driver was trying not to stare.

"Yes, yes. I would say 'any time,' but I'm afraid I couldn't honor that."

"I'll just have to get my own place, I guess. I'll bug Angel again about getting me an office."

"Good luck."

"Thanks, love."

Wes paid the cabby in advance and I headed back to Wolfram and Hart, hangover headache in place, having plenty of time to reflect on...

Oh, you know this part, do you? Oh, you _are_ the cabby. Well, what the bloody hell am I telling you all this for?

IT WAS THE SCOTCH!

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed. I think if you watch the end of "Lineage" then read this story, then watch the beginning of "Destiny" you'll be amused at how well it fits together. xD Please review!<br>_


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